Winter Leaving Spring
by Saxton-And-Holt
Summary: Spring and a stranger comes to Imladris. Talk of the Valar and a new age of peace fill the air. Erestor is cynical he doesn't believe in miracles, or a god. Glorfindel believes God's blessing is on himself and his mission to bring peace. No slash or fluff
1. Wintersweet and Radagast

Disclaimer: Nothing is what I own, except for my own stunning originality.

Author's Note:

I am inexpressibly weary of Library Erestor. Shy Erestor. Little Erestor. Lonely Erestor. Gay Erestor. Shy little lonely gay Erestor.

I am also inexpressibly weary of Happy Glorfindel. Silly Glorfindel. Santa Glorfindel. Popular Glorfindel. Horny Glorfindel. Gay Glorfindel. Happy, silly, Santa, popular, horny gay Glorfindel.

I am very weary.

So I decided that the best cure was to write them the way that I wanted them. So. There.

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**Chapter One**

Mist filled Imladris like a gentle exhalation. Spring had come to the valley at last. The river still flowed icy and muddy brown, but the ground was warm and soft. Fields would plowed; gardens plotted, and the last of the wintersweet would disappear. Elrond studied the yellow and red flower in his palm and finally slipped it into his pocket, giving up. It would come to him, soon.

Almost it came to him, as he ate breakfast, absently spooning jam onto his eggs instead of his toast. Like the faint fragrance of the fading flower, it disappeared with the first sticky mouthful. It disappeared entirely when the door exploded open and a man in a expansive brown coat and knee high boots strode into the room.

"Master Elrond," he cried happily "I hoped to catch you early."

Nearly choking on his breakfast, the elf rose, gladly abandoning the eggs.

"What brings you----Radagast!" Elrond stepped away from the man's hearty embrace, and looked him up and down "How could you have---the river---"

Radagast chuckled and didn't answer for a few moments as he flung the curtains away from all the windows.

"You elves and your houses, hideously dark. There, better." He surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction as the morning sun streamed into the room "The Brunien may stop some from entering the valley, but it has a difficult time in stopping a Wizard, especially one on a mission. Despite what others may have to say on the matter."

His face darkened for a moment but the expression disappeared as soon as it came.

"I believe that you have been given a token of the news I am bringing you." Radagast stated, rather than asked"Although," he cast a critical eye at the table "most news is better after breakfast."

Elrond took this generous hint.

"Tell the kitchen I have a guest this morning and to please make certain that there is---" Elrond and the servant shared a glance towards Radagast's tall and hearty figure "enough of everything."

"Yes, sir." Esovoya stared openly over her shoulder at the wizard as she reluctantly left the room.

Radagast, coat flung off, leaned back in the chair opposite Elrond's. Ever restless, the wizard turned a fork over and over in his long brown fingers.

"After, not before," he said sepulchrally when Elrond opened his mouth. The elf laughed.

"I was going to ask about this token, but I suspect it is bound up in the news you refuse to give me, so," Elrond lifted his hands "I wait on your good pleasure. Did Curunír Lán send you?"

Radagast's mouth tightened.

"Yes, but he is not the first, or the only to hear of it, the air, the birds, the very trees are breathing it, if only Curunír had the ears to hear it, but deeper matters interest him. He has small time for---" He spoke as if reciting from memory "such petty matters."

He flicked something across the table to Elrond.

"There. A small token from Greenwood," he leaned forward, smiling mysteriously as Elrond stared at it "where the winters last longer, and leave more slowly."

Elrond held the small bunch of yellow-red wintersweet , his eyes suddenly lost in the distance.

"A strange token," he said slowly "Winter leaving spring, flower heralding flower, child of Valinor come---"

The door opened and Esovoya stepped into the room, bearing a heavy tray. Her eyes flicked over Radagast and Elrond's still figure.

"Foolish girl!" Radagast bellowed bad temperedly and took the tray away "Go away and don't meddle in things you don't understand."

Esovoya glared at him.

"Enjoy your breakfast," she said, voice sharp with sarcasm. The door slammed behind her, and Elrond sighed.

"Never mind, Radagast, it was gone before she came. When seasons are changing---" the elf waved his hand vaguely "in all events, there seems to be nothing evil in whatever is going to happen. I understand----most, but not all."

His eyes, clear and natural now, looked curiously at the wizard.

"You could be the child of Valinor."

Radagast shook with silent laughter.

"Child," he managed finally "has not described me for some time, young one. I am no interpreter of other people's visions, but I highly doubt---" here he shook again "that I am this mystical figure. Pass the sugar."

As soon as everything that could be eaten had disappeared---including, strangely enough, the unfortunate eggs---Radagast stood and shook Elrond's hand.

"I must be going. The journey from Imladris to Greenwood is not, I assure you, a slight one, and spring, I must be there when spring comes to the North, my friends would never forgive me if I was not."

"But your message," Elrond protested "And you cannot stay only a morning, you must stay, at least for a few days. We rarely see visitors from the North."

The wizard shrugged into his long coat.

"The message has already been delivered." Radagast said, almost petulantly "For tales of elves and their double-speech, you should be able to decipher what is as plain as the sun---beside, you will have more important matters than an old wizard to fuss over. Any words for me to carry back with me?"

"That you are absolutely the most irritating of all the wizards and my favorite visitor. Safe journey, friend."

Elrond still seethed with curiosity, but said nothing, knowing that to pry anything out of an Istari was impossible. It was the little hints they let slip, here and there, that counted.

"And an impeccably perfect spring to you, Master Elrond." Radagast bowed exaggeratedly "I will take your news back to the trees of Greenwood; it will amuse them."

It seemed to amuse the wizard as well, for as he swirled through the doorway, finally disappearing from sight, he was laughing to himself.


	2. Erestor and Amiable Debate

**Disclaimer: If I wanted Tolkien, I could have him. Right now, he owns his own freaking stuff. Whatever.**

**My format sucked on the first chapter, so I've improved it. I wanted to make this chapter longer, but I have to attend a picnic. Bugger it.**

**Chapter Two**

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"I was attempting to explain to the human that Imladris is _not_ a home for anyone who manages to wander in and, no, we do not adopt every baby that is left on our doorstep and she looked positively livid---," Erestor paused.

"You haven't heard a thing I have been saying, have you?" he asked Elrond in exasperation.

A swift, chill grey spring evening had overtaken Imladris. Still, the laughter and song of many elves drifted from the outdoors into the nearly empty Hall of Fire. The winter had been too long. Several daring (or foolish, if you preferred) young elves wanted to swim already. The elders put a swift end to this idea. Still, in a few weeks, even the children would be wading. Elrond put his chin on his hand, watching through the window.

"That's fine, sounds wonderful." he answered dreamily.

Erestor felt like sighing, and smiled instead. When Elrond wanted to talk about whatever it was that had caused him to start rummaging through old files, wander about with a distracted expression and call everyone by their wrong names, he would talk about it.

He slumped down further in his chair and waited. There was a marked difference between the pair; although they shared superficial similarities. Elrond's dark hair framed a open face with a generous mouth always slightly parted; his hair long and curly in a very human way. He always moved in a deliberate, thoughtful way and could win your heart by taking your hand and saying your name, carefully, as if it meant everything in the world to meet you. This friendly openness often deceived people---the elf lord held only a few people in his closest affections.

Erestor, though dark haired and grey eyed, impressed people in an entirely different way. He was tall and built like a whip-cord, strong and lean. His eyes were quick and brilliant and an unreadable smoky grey color. A minutes delay and the impatience that he exhumed was almost palpable. His words could reach to the bone and he didn't hesistate to use them. And when he was angry, he was very, very quiet.

Finally, as someone began a song outside, Elrond seemed to reach a resolution.

"I spoke with Radagast today." he said, "Face to face, not mentally. I was eating breakfast and he made an appearance. You know how wizards can be."

Erestor decided to reserve judgement on wizards.

"He said something rather interesting and I think that he was right. He also brought this. What do you think?"

Erestor put his feet on the table and studied the faded bunch of flowers.

"I hate dead flowers. They smell terrible."

The elf lord smiled abruptly.

"I'm sorry, I'm expecting you to know everything about it and I haven't even told you. There's going to be someone new coming to Imladris, someone I can't...I will know it when they are here, but they are yet without my reach."

"They?" Erestor prompted.

"It could be a man, could be a woman. It isn't more than one though, just one very...very singular person."

"Look," Erestor said briskly "Pretend that I am a very stupid person who cannot simply deduce an entire situation from the fact that Radagast interupted your breakfast and that someone is coming to Imladris. People are always coming to Imladris, and Radagast isn't exactly a rare visitor. Then, start from the beginning and speak slowly."

Elrond shrugged.

"There isn't much else to tell. Except that I am convinced that there is something of the Valar in this, something of their doing. Everything falls into place that way."

Erestor's mouth thinned into an irritated line.

"Isn't that a bit simplistic?" he said acidly.

Elrond turned from the window, turning his full attention to elf facing him. He put his head to the side, a smile faintly hovering just above his mouth. In a moment, he could make even his advisor feel young.

"Is going to be another religious debate?" he asked.

"You mentioned the Valar first."

"The Valar aren't 'religious'. That righteous look of wrath on your face is."

"I am not angry, simply wondering why divine intervention is your first explanation for anything."

Elrond snorted.

"Your zealousness has overcome your good sense, my friend. I did not simply pick 'divine intervention' because I felt like it. There are many threads in this tapestry, and I can sense the hand of the Valar guiding them. Do not to presume to know all of my thoughts."

Erestor, unabashed, grinned.

"I know most of them though."

The two rose and began to walk down the hall together.

"Hardened sinner." Elrond retorted.

"Blind worshipper." Erestor snipped.

"Hasty atheist."

"Vala lover."

"Vala hater."

Aimably, they argued as they strolled. Erestor's disdain for the Valar and utter disbelief of any benevolent creator called Iluvatar used to cause fierce debate between the two. However, they had come to a comfortable place of agreeing to disagree, at least for now. Their religious scuffles were now like bubbles, rising to the surface of a peaceful pond; brief and unimportant. Neither could understand that this new arrival would bring all of this to a boiling point.


	3. Nightmares and Rising Rivers

**Disclaimer: I don't own enough of not nothing.**

**I wanted to have something dramatic happen, so here it is. This story will take a while to get going, but that's the point. I always find stories really funny when two characters meet, and by the end of the first or second chapter, they're already in bed. It's like "What the flipping H, they just shook hands!"**

**Chapter Three**

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Elrond slept uneasily.

Once or twice he woke suddenly, heart pounding, waiting, as if for some childhood monster to crawl from under the bed. His dreams were strange; Radagast suddenly ten feet tall and looming over him to say "You know you never should have done it" and then fading away before Elrond could ask him what "it" was. A herd of wild horses galloping in slow, silent grace over an empty land. And Erestor's face, twisted with hatred as he spat into his face.

"Fool," Dream-Erestor hissed and just before the elf-lord woke, his hands ripped at Elrond's eyes.

For a few horrible moments, Elrond sat upright, hands clenched, waiting to feel the pain come flooding through his head. Then the calm whiteness of a spring night filling his bedroom reminded him where he was. The relief was immense and strange. He felt suddenly and totally exhausted. The soothing sound of water rushing, falling, pounding was already lulling him to sleep...back to sleep.

And then---

Someone knocked at the door.

Elrond opened the door. Hadrien, a elf who was vigilant to ensure that no one got to Elrond who didn't need to, or who would pose a danger to the elf lord, stood there.

"Hebrion, of the lower valley, has urgent news for you," he said "He is the river watchman and begs an audience with you."

Hadrien added,

"I think that you had better see him, sir."

The dread that had melted away when he awoke was fast coming back. Elrond decided that if anything was happening, he wanted to be appropirately attired, and dressed. A Silvan elf with red hair swept into a ponytail and wearing a fisherman's water proof coat was waiting for him in the next room. Hadrien hovered nearby, in case he was needed.

"The river is rising fast, Master Elrond. Already the Brunien has overspread its banks. Some elves have already begun to move their belongings, fearing that it may reach their houses."

Continue."

The Silvan elf gave Elrond a long, quizzical look. The elf lord felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle; he remembered that look.

It said, _Peredhel_.

It said, _Different_.

It said, _I am afraid of you._

"There's summat wrong with all of this," Hebrion blurted, taking the plunge "I know the Brunien and I know her moods. Every spring she floods in high, but this is different, it's evil."

He faltered, and looked to Elrond for reassurance.

"It's evil." he repeated.

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The horse tossed his head restlessly, waiting for his rider to do something. It wasn't the river ahead: roaring in torrential rage, foaming an ugly muddy brown. It was the unnatural and absolutely stillness of the elf. The river, the light rain, nothing seemed to touch him. When the elf finally urged the horse onward, the animal didn't hesistate to walk directly towards the rapidly rising Brunien.

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There was something unnatural about the rapid rise of the river and the thin grey morning that stained the edges of the night sky. No rain, no wind. Hebrion's grim face grew even grimmer as he pointed out the damage already caused, and what would happen if it was not stopped. Beside him, Elrond stood, wearing a light, grey colored jacket, a concession to his human half, and his intense dislike of gettting wet.

The Brunien's source was the mountains; and it snaked through the lower half of the valley. The land was fertile and pleasant there, providing most of the farming land of Imladris. This was precious to the small valley that consisted mostly of soaring cliffs, waterfalls, and heavily wooded areas that yielded ground only reluctantly, and after years of careful cultivation and constant upkeep. A flood this size, and of this force, could wipe out the precious topsoil and the early growing plants. Elrond, Hebrion, a few guards and their uneasy, restless horses, stood on a bluff that overlooked the river. Already, a few houses had disappeared into the muddy brown maw of the widening river. Fortunately, all the elves had been warned in time. There were no deaths. Yet.

Hebrion glanced sideways at Elrond, still distrustful.

"I s'ppose there's a master plan behind of this," he said gruffly, folding his arms over his chest and staring into the air, "Just waiting, watching the river get higher. I suppose that there's a good reason to let it get worse before anything is done."

One of the guards, Alastegiel, a bright haired, impeccably dressed woman, pulled him aside. She spoke, sharply;

"It is not your place and this is certainly not the time to air your prejudices."

Hebrion's mouth thinned into a tight line and brushed her hand away. He didn't speak. Alastegiel was right, of course; she usually was. This flooding disturbed Elrond, but it did not frighten him, and he could overcome it with a simple command. Vilya, the ring forged by the dark and beautiful Celebrimbor, son of Curufinwe, son of Curufinwe, son of Finwe, one of the first to awake upon the earth to count its stars----Vilya held sway over the valley, and Elrond wore the ring.

"I think that I have seen all that there is to see," Elrond said pleasantly, "Thank you for your prompt action, Hebrion. It will take a few days for the water to recede completely, but the damage is minimal, as yet."

Hebrion stared at him in open disbelief. As the group of elves mounted their horses, Alastegiel pulled her horse around, and leaned closer.

"Just look at the river, and don't look so surprised. Elrond didn't fall off the back of a cabbage wagon, you know."

Then she smiled brilliantly, and urged her horse onwards, catching up with the others. When they were a good distance away, Elrond turned in his saddle and fixed a quizzical gaze on her.

"Cabbage wagon?" he said.

"Pure elf-speak. Peredhel's wouldn't understand it." she answered blandly.

"Ah."

Elrond's mouth quirked into an amused smile. He knew she had fought more than once over her lord's reputation, and although he didn't exactly encourage such fights, he had not reprimanded her for it, either. However, a few moments later, there came a hoarse shout from the direction of the river. One of the guards,a thin slip of an elf, pointed.

"Hebrion is running towards the river!" He said in astonishment.

"Get back you fool!" This time, everyone heard the shout clearly, and the panic in Hebrion's voice.

Alastegiel didn't hesistate and after a split second, every elf followed, urging their horses into a gallop. Clods of sodden earth flew from under the horses' hooves; the slick ground made for dangerous riding, but no one slowed. When they reached the river, Hebrion was at the very edge of the swollen river, water lapping at his boots.

"You'll get killed!" He bellowed furiously.

Across the river, and only a few feet away from the torrent, was an elf. He rode a white mare; long-legged and as a thoroughbred, but her head was small and finely sculptured, a frothy mane tossed over her arching neck. The elf rode her easily, one hand gently carressing her face as he spoke into her ear. The words were lost over the overwhelming roar of the river. He wore a simple grey cloak that came about his knees, and a hood against the rain.

Hebrion shed his coat, tossing it onto the river bank. He had planted one foot into the river when an hand gripped his shoulder.

"He isn't stopping." Alastegiel said in a low voice, edged with fearful curiosity, "Look at his face."

The Silvan elf shrugged her off.

"I know it, from the first, but at least I can try to save his arse when he gets swept off. Take this."

He bundled the end of a rope into her hands; it was tied around his waist. She took it.

"I'll get my horse, I don't know if I could hold the both of you in that current."

"Fine. I have to go downriver, try to get him as he comes by."

The two elves worked furiously to save the life of someone who apparently had no regard for his own. As the lovely white horse broke into a canter, there came the liquid sound of bells that caught the light, flashed, glinted from the reins, unbearably brilliant before horse and elf plunged into the river.

They plunged downwards immeaditely, the horse fighting for a foothold, finding it, bucking and fighting through the river. Elrond's face was white and still and his lips moved, no sounds coming from them. He, too, was trying to save this fool. The water came over the horse's withers now, the elf still laying against her neck, still speaking. In a terrifying moment, both elf and horse went under. Downriver, Hebrion had waded out to his knees, now he went out until it almost reached his waist, tensely watching for a swirl of cloak or hand. Then, like a pheonix rising, the horse and elf broke through again, the mad bells shaking and singing wild, otherworldly tunes. The elf's hood was flung back, his face was white, crazy, and a mane of golden hair tangled about his face as he clung to the mare. Then, Alastegiel screamed.

"Get out, get out, get out!" She hauled back on the rope, nearly jerking Hebrion off his feet. After a moment, his face drained of all color and he fought his way back to the bank.

Upriver, a few hundred feet away from the crazy, golden haired elf, there was a wall of water. There is no other way to describe it. A smooth, glassy wall of muddy brown water, capped by foam, rushed downwards upon the doomed elf. The horse was swimming now, but there was no way she could get clear before the wall swept her and her rider away forever. The river roared, a guard swore viciously, and Elrond was at the river's edge, one hand outstretched over the waves, calling out in harsh, imperious tone the otherworldly language of Quenya, the tongue spoken in Valinor. The river seemed to buckle in the middle with a great, groaning sigh; the wave rushed onwards, elements fought, almost seeming to rend themselves apart as the horse found its footing again, fighting to get a grip on the crumbling, sodden banks, slipping, almost swept away by the current, finally gaining the bank and scrambling upwards as the wave churned past, with a hungry sound of disappointment.

Somehow, the elf had survived.


	4. Tokens From the Valar and 'Friendship'

Disclaimer: If I owned this, then I would be Tolkien, and I would have been brought back from the dead. I don't think people who are brought back from the dead use their time to write fanfiction. I'm pretty sure. Yeah.

Author Note:

I include women because I'm sick and tired of stories that don't even bother to have smart and nice women characters. FF writers seem to make them helpless, whimpering maidens, or nasty bee-hotches. Very bad stereotypes. No thanks.

For those who love the canon fussing and tussling, Glorfindel's 'rebirth' is more a subject of debate than strictly nailed down. Tolkien used names, changed names, and although it was indicated early on that Imladris Glorfindel was, indeed, Gondolin Glorfindel, the details are a bit fuzzy.

Also, this chapter has been written somewhat piece meal. Please excuse, or seize upon my inconsistencies or mistakes as you will. I will attempt to correct any that are pointed out to me. Well-written flames are as welcome as any other review.

Chapter Four

Flower Heralding Flower

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News spread fast. By nightfall, everyone knew about the crazy stranger who had braved the flooding Brunien and barely escaped. One look at Hebrion's stoic face and no one could accuse him of ever gossiping. The guards who had been present appeared to be the picture of decorum and silence. But everyone knew. And talked. Not that the stranger hadn't provided enough material for speculation. After staggering up the bank, he had put something---no one had managed to see what, unfortunately---into Master Elrond's hand. Then, in a very romantic and satisfying way, the stranger had collapsed at his feet. He was up in a moment, of course, but he had to be helped to the Last Homely Home, where he was now residing. There had been no _official _news about him.

However, they did know that Elrond had called a council of the valley elders. Also, when Councilor Erestor arrived, he wore the full regalia of his position; a rich, brocaded vest with the crest of his family and rank, the colors wine and dark gold. Cuffs, rich and ruffled with black lace, complimented by the jet ornament about his throat. The cloak that would have looked too long on anyone else, but only accented his frightening height as it whirled and snapped behind him as he walked swiftly through the halls. Only Erestor's severe austerity could have carried such richness. He was flanked by his personal secretary, and the one guard he allowed to accompany him. Even they, accustomed to his habits, struggled to keep up with him this evening.

As they neared the Circle, though, he slowed, and entered it with the the calm of a swan. Already, many Council members had already assembled. He nodded to a few friends before taking his seat by Elrond's right hand.

"Welcome, Lord Erestor, you have completed our assembly." Elrond spoke formally.

Savak, a white haired elf, leaned closer.

"Always have to be the last, eh, Erestor?" he murmured, amusement edging his words.

Erestor gave a long look from the corner of his eye.

"Now is not the time."

Elrond laced his hands together thoughtfully, before addressing the elves present.

"This meeting has been somewhat abrupt, but entirely necessary. Many of you have already heard the information and misinformation being spread about the incident that occurred this morning. That, however, is not the beginning of the matter. The scent of change is in the air, and yesterday, one of the Istari confirmed this. Radagast spoke with me; he was sent with Curunír Lán's blessing. He brought a token with him---this." Elrond held a sprig of faded wintersweet in his palm, before deliberately crushing it and letting the broken petals drift onto the ground.

"The token was nothing but a confirmation. Radagast came to herald someone greater, someone coming to Imladris."

"Greater than Radagast?" A Sindar elf spoke in surprise, "Some may count him a lesser wizard than Curunír Lán, but he is a wizard, all the same. His kinship with the animals is sung of by our eastern kindred."

"That is well-spoken, but it is not a slight to our good ally to---"

No one heard the explanation as to why this was, because there was an interruption. An elf, rumpled, dirty and weary looking, walked into the midst of the Circle. His hair was swept back in a tangled ponytail tied with a string, as if he had tried to be somewhat presentable. He bowed, a little awkwardly, to Elrond. That same awkwardness seemed to underline his every action.

"I am sorry to interrupt so rudely." he said softly, voice rusty and tired. "I learned of this council only a short time ago, and I did not think that it would be fitting to burden Master Elrond with such a strange tale to tell. I beg leave of his majesty to speak to this noble gathering myself."

Elrond, rather than being annoyed, seemed intrigued, and, Erestor thought, probably pleased. He always did enjoy a good story. He inclined his head, giving gracious assent to the stranger's request.

"I am afraid that to give my name would only cloud the issue, so that must wait until the end of this tale. Master Elrond spoke of a token, given to him by the good wizard, Istari. I bring one myself, which he also knows of and has recognized."

He reached into his pocket and as he withdrew his hand, a sweet fragrance filled the air as he held out a small bunch of wintersweet. A faint, definite glow surrounded the pale yellow blossoms with their mulberry hearts. Insignificant, perhaps, not a special flower. But something in it caught at the heart, the fragrance like a memory you almost can, but cannot remember. Tears started to the eyes of many elves, including, to his own very great surprise, Erestor's. In a moment, he blinked them away.

"This flower has come from Valinor, from a garden tended by the Lady Yavanna's own hands. She sent it, and her blessings on the valley of Imladris. May her lands be fruitful and well-watered." He spoke in a lilting, flute-like tone of a traditional blessing.

"Well-watered she has been indeed, with floods untimely and rain unceasing," Erestor rose, a velvet hint of irritation in his words. "Three tokens have we had, and yet no explanation of any. Stories worth telling are worth taking time to tell, but they do not take an eternity."

A stifled laugh, probably from Savak, broke the reverent silence that had fallen.

The elf turned his disturbingly bright eyes on Erestor.

"I have waited," he said simply, "a long time to tell this story. And yet, the wisdom of the chief Councilor silences us all. I have been sent by Lord Manwe to serve Master Elrond, and to protect this valley. My name is Glorfindel, and I come---many years ago---from another valley. I lived and died in Gondolin, and have been reborn. My token stands for me."

There was a stark truth in his words. This dirty, unremarkable elf did not fit the mental picture---dashing, overwhelmingly handsome, eternally capable---that everyone had created from the scraps of legend and stories and idealized paintings. But somehow, the protests, the questions, the demands that arose in every throat died away. The delicate scent of the flowers still filled the air.

"An appropriate token," Savak spoke finally, "A flower to herald a flower. Are there--further words or greetings from Lord Manwe and the Valar?"

He _was_ enjoying it, by god, Erestor could tell that Elrond was enjoying this with every inch of his dramatic soul.

"I say," a woman across the room drawled in a soft, honeyed voice, "If you come with the blessings of the Valar, and bear tokens, and all sorts of good things like that, what was the river doing, hindering the messenger of the Valar themselves? Why, I was under the impression that Master Elrond controlled the river himself, and would he attempt to murder you? It simply seems...odd...to me."

She looked innocent, but Erestor barely held back the shout of laughter in his throat.

Nioniel had seen more of the world than most, and while she did not share Erestor's cynicism, nothing escaped past her unchallenged. The golden haired elf smiled abruptly and lifted his hands in the air.

"I have no explanation. I have nothing else to bring with me; either tokens or blessings. Anything unneccesary was cast aside before my journey began."

A glint of madness or laughter came into his eyes. In a moment of utter clarity, as the setting sun flashed across the gathering, Erestor thought: it's true. He shook the thought away like a fly; be more specific, Erestor, he chided himself. _He _believes that he is Glorfindel, reborn, messenger of the Valar, savior of---what? Perhaps he was mad, but he was pure from any malic or deceit.

Innocent, his mind suggested. The corner of his mouth twitched in a sardonic smile. Yes, Glorfindel was innocent.

"I move that we suspend further discussion until the morning," he heard himself saying, "Time to consider questions and explanations would be invaluable to us all. And our guest---" the slightest tremor of a hesistation, so slight perhaps only Elrond caught it, entered his voice before he continued smoothly, "Glorfindel appears to be weary, and would be benefit from rest and refreshment himself."

For the first time, their eyes met. A tension seemed to leave Glorfindel's face. As Elrond rose to disperse the gathering, and the other elves instantly began to murmur among themselves, forming little groups, he walked to Erestor, and took his hand.

"I thank you," he said simply, "For using my name."

Tension, so far subdued, filled the air around the little tableu. The ragged, dirty Glorfindel did not intend to create a scene but he had, simply by offering a hand of friendship to the one person who perhaps opposed him most of all. Erestor's thin face flushed, not with embarrassment , but rather with the joy of meeting a challenge. He took Glorfindel's other hand, and said in the most gentle and friendly way,

"And to you, for knowing mine. I did not even know that my name was still permitted to be spoken in the...Blessed Realm. It is a blessing, indeed, to know that I am not forgotten by the Valar."

"Indeed, you are not forgotten," Glorfindel said, in the same soft, yet earnest tones, "but praised for your continual vigilance in protecting Imladris, and the elves yet left to Middle Earth. I have wished very much to meet you."

"Again, I am overwhelmed with joy," Erestor answered "Indeed, it is a wonder to be praised by the Valar, who, by all accounts, are those who truly protect the elves, and carry out Eru's will on Middle Earth."

He dropped Glorfindel's hands, his mouth thinning into a harsh, firm line.

"To you, I bear no ill will. But I scorn the approbation of the Valar."

He spat the last word contemptuously and stalked from the room. Eyes flickered over Glorfindel's still figure and pale face, and then, darted away. A line had been drawn. The elves now fell into two groups. Those for---and those against---Glorfindel.


	5. Just Like Everyone Else

**Thank all of you so much for your reviews. Each and every single one brighten my day and sharpen my ideas. I know the updates are a bit slow, but I'm trying to let this develop naturally and fully. In other words, I just write more slowly. I wanted to make this chapter longer, but, oh well.**

**Also, I have absolutely no knowledge of any kind about sword-fighting, aside from a few generic terms. I'm currently attempting NaNoWriMo, and I have a throat infection. Yes, I am asking for some pity here. If you to email me links to demonstrate my stupidity, either on army practices or sword-fighting, I welcome them gladly. Live and learn. I damn my non-existent beta to heck.**

**Chapter Five**

**Just Like Everyone Else**

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Alastegiel shrugged.

"There isn't anything more to the story, I swear."

The sun blazed down from the sky, as if attempting to remove any signs of the flood from the valley. Crews of elves had already begun to repair the damage or simply to clean up the trash. Alastegiel perched on a heap of sodden wooden boards, and held a foamy beer in one hand, cheerfully distributed by one of the valley's most popular brewers to all those engaged in the work. The beer, truth be told, may have drawn more elves than pure compassion, but no one minded, as long as the work as done. Strictly speaking, Alastegiel should have been enjoying her free day, but her own conviction that most, if not all things, would be done better with her help, wouldn't allow it. A group of elves, tired after a hard morning's work, clustered about, eating, drinking, and arguing about Glorfindel.

An elf snorted in disbelief.

"It's always those who _know_ about these things that are always so short on detail," he moaned, "If Varda came from Valinor with a star in her right hand and a fury of lightning in her left, you'd probably say that, "the most honorable lady of Valinor did make herself known unto the populace during the 102nd year of the reign of Elrond'!"

"Typical soldier," another said breezily, "Bare-bone facts, all the way."

Alastegiel choked on her beer, spewing it over her clothes.

"Typical?" she gasped, "Half the guard who were there are already saying that he's some kind of lesser Maia, or child of Manwe with some elven women, or something equally ridiculous. They'll have him general in two weeks, if they had their way, and we don't know anything about him."

"So you take Lord Erestor's view of the matter?" someone asked.

"His view," Alastegiel said, her forcefulness perhaps accentuated by her drink, "Has nothing to do with it. He's one of the only people not drooling on this elf's shoes, anyway, but that's not my point. It's that this elf should be treated like anyone else, until he proves himself otherwise. We were overdue for a flood anyway, check your history."

A brief silence followed this statement, and one elf finally clapped his hands together.

"Well, much as I'd love to keep talking, there's a bit of work still to be done here, so..."

Mock groans and friendly jibes followed this as everyone rose, preparing to once more attack the mountain of work that still awaited them.

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"I would prefer," Glorfindel was saying, close to that moment, "to be treated as anyone else would be. I want to be treated like any other person enlisting in the army."

Mablung, distant relation of the much more famous and now deceased Mablung the heavy-handed and captain of the recruits and trainees, leaned back in his chair. He leaned so far back that Glorfindel half-expected the chair to topple over. Insteqad the chair, apparently used to this treatment, simply squeaked in protest. Mablung was a tall, barrel-chested elf that simultaneously fit the stereotype of his profession, and didn't, as he was generally known for his quiet demeanor and penchant for anything magic. Underneath his professional boredom, the captain longed to ask Glorfindel dozens and dozens of questions, and perhaps discover if he had brought anything other than winter sweet with him, for the flowers of Valinor were rumored to possess particularly potent qualities where spells were concerned. Instead, he leaned back just a bit father in the protesting chair, and said brusquely,

"That's exactly what you will get, and you're just in time to join a whole wash of new recruits this spring. You can start shooting each other in the back with arrows the first of next week, and you're to report to the barracks this evening for basic orientation. Nothing that should surprise someone who has had some experience fighting."

"Yes, sir. No, sir." Glorfindel said, but a shadow passed over his serene features.

Again, Mablung felt a twinge of regret that he couldn't speak further with this elf, but it just wouldn't do, not with a new recruit anyway. Besides, it wasn't just Glorfindel demanding that he be treated like anyone else. Orders from higher-up had been given to him, and this new elf would just have to sink or swim, like anyone else. If anything, they would have to be harder on him than any other recruit. Sometimes that was necessary, especially for elves who had fought before. They knew just enough to make themselves a nuisance and not enough to make the grade.

"Good," he said curtly.

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If the two options were sink or swim, Glorfindel was sinking.

He was diligent, hard-working, and from the gossip of his fellow recruits, disgustingly polite _and_ devastatingly handsome without a shirt on. This last bit of gossip was particularly seized on, and more people than usual began to drop around to watch the recruits train. After a few weeks of a fully-clothed Glorfindel disappointed their hopes, some gave it up, though most stayed, speculation about what Glorfindel looked like without any clothes at all running rampant among those ranks.

Still, despite his budding popularity and charming personality, Glorfindel was sinking.

The sword he had brought from Valinor was put away, and he used the same sword that every other recruit used. His eyes glittered with determination as he once more attempted the basic maneuvers being taught. The more experienced elf, who tried to put him through his paces, brushed some stray hair from her eyes and breathed an inward sigh. He paused, flicking a questioning glance at her.

"You come from under the attack, you don't hop sideways," she explained wearily, "Let's try that again, and see if we can't get this right at least once before the end of the day."

Once more, she began the exercise.

On the side-lines, among the recruits who were now at break, and the idle gossipers, a dark haired elf with his hair in a pony tail listened with interest to their conversation. A few people might have recognized him, but most didn't, and Erestor passed among them as freely as any elf would. He watched with bemused interest as Glorfindel once more stumbled his way through the moves, and instead of coming from under the attack, once more leapt to a sideways angle and attempted to disarm his teacher. She did not comment, but simply said, "Again" and they began once more, discouragement finally beginning to show on his face. The advisor was not malicious, and he almost turned away from the little scene, not wishing to see the young one fail once more. Something caught his attention, however, and he began to watch the pair more closely. To his annoyance, his concentration was interrupted by someone asking him loudly,

"Haven't seen your face here before, come to gawp with the rest of us?" It was a loose-limbed young elleth, who obviously played to the laughter of her fellow recruits and she repeated her question. Erestor wanted to freeze her out with a stony glare.

"To gawp, no. To watch, to examine, yes, though that can be difficult when people insist on shouting in your ear," he said instead. The elleth giggled as if this was quite amusing, and a juvenile twitter ran through her group of admirers.

Further attempts to bait him met with terse replies as he tried to see what it was that triggered his memory, something---and then, there it was, the brief, barely perceptible salute that Glorfindel performed at the end of yet another botched attack. The sword, slightly raised, and held still for just a moment before they began. A swirl of memories pounded through Erestor's mind, and as the trainer looked as though she wanted to throw her sword onto the ground, or maybe at her trainee's head, he walked up to her, and touched her arm lightly.

"Would you mind if I were to attempt to teach a few tricks to this recruit of yours?" he asked.

The trainer's eyebrows rose slightly as she recognized him.

"Of course," she said, "Though tricks might not help where common sense seems to be lacking."

Glorfindel flinched at this quiet, but audible snipe. He faced Glorfindel, his expression as blandly friendly as if they were causal acquaintances. He was, Erestor felt delighted to see, slightly angry. The perfect mood for a game of Point.

"This will be simple," he said cheerfully, "No need to explain, you should get the hang of it after a few minutes."

More like moments. As they saluted each-other, Glorfindel looked vaguely puzzled as Erestor matched his very slight, brief salute that no one else seemed to have noticed. Then, with a quick light jab, Erestor touched his shoulder with his sword.

"Point," he said, and flashed a dangerous smile at his opponent.

Understanding flooded Glorfindel's face as Erestor repeatedly and harmlessly reached under, over and around his defenses to simply tap him on his shoulder, arm, or stomach, followed by a brisk call of, "Point!" Suddenly, Glorfindel's movements became tighter, and more wary, and he circled Erestor, his movements light and easy. Suddenly, they met in a blur of blades, finally separating as Erestor cried once more

"Point!"

His trainer, wearily dumping a canteen of water on her head and letting it slosh over her shoulders, was abruptly interrupted by a squeal from an elleth.

"Just look at Glorfindel!"

She watched in disbelief as the two elves fought. Glorfindel matched his opponent's quick, graceful movements, all awkwardness dropped away from his tall frame as they met again in a small skirmish, this time separating with no points earned on either side. The style of fighting was archaic---ancient, she realized, and much different from what was used, or taught now. Erestor began to slow now, teasing Glorfindel as he side stepped him. A well-oiled ferocity underlined Erestor's laughing demeanor, and she knew, with a quiet shock, that he was not teaching, or even attempting to teach anything to Glorfindel. They were, in the truest sense of the word, sparring, as equals.

The deathly silence was suddenly broken by a triumphant shout from Glorfindel.

"Point!"

Then Erestor did laugh, blood pounding through his veins as he never let his guard down for a moment. He'd scored a point and gotten Erestor just on the knee; in serious battle, he might have severed a tendon. Glorfindel grinned at him as they continued. Suddenly, in a series of lightning strokes, Erestor surged forward.

"Point and goal," he said, as with a unexpected twist, he threw Glorfindel onto the ground and straddled him, his sword at his throat. "May it never be so in battle," he said in formal tones, and spat by Glorfindel's right shoulder. The oath was often used in older times, but only rarely now.

Glorfindel stared back at him, the laughter and joy suddenly drained from his face. His skin was the color of putty, and as Erestor took his hand to help him up, it felt as cold as ice. The advisor felt confused. Surely, Glorfindel was not a petulant elfling, to throw a tantrum when he was defeated? The thundering cheer that had risen from the crowd suddenly died away as the golden-haired elf barely acknowledged Erestor before he strode swiftly away, almost running as he disappeared into the fading sunlight.

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	6. Sandwiches, Letters, and a Change

Author's Note: Yes, it's short. I know. Next few chapters will be very busy, so don't worry.

Chapter Six:

Sandwiches, Letters, and a Change

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Glorfindel woke groggily to a light touch on his shoulder. His head ached slightly. Ithmene, a shy Silvan elf who slept in the bunk opposite his, sat next to him.

"I feel like I shouldn't be waking you up, you still look tired," he said softly, "We all missed you at dinner. Mablung asked to see you. I put back a sandwich for you, in case you wanted something later."

This little act of thoughtfulness touched Glorfindel and he had to blink back unwanted tears as he sat up.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely, "I think I'd better clean up a little before marching in to Mablung like this."

Ithmene laughed although quietly; some recruits had retired early this evening.

"You probably should. I think fairies have been at your hair."

More like rats, Glorfindel thought as he peered into the slightly greenish mirror that hung over the basin. Ithmene had been, as always, a diplomat. His hair tangled about his puffy face, still flushed with sleep and his clothing was still dirty from the earlier practice. He splashed some cool water onto his face and fumbled about for a comb as he dried off with a towel. He found it, and after managing to pull out the major tangles, tied it back and found a clean shirt. Still bad, but better. In some ways he dreaded meeting with Mablung right now. His sharp eyes would miss nothing, including the evidences of a long, hard cry.

He left the barracks, Ithmene absently calling out 'Good luck' as he lay on his bunk, deeply absorbed in some letter-writing.

Mablung was not, as his custom normally was, leaning back in his chair. Instead he leant forward, propping his chin on one hand. He studied the Vanyar elf for a few moments without speaking. He hadn't seen much of Glorfindel, and had missed the strange incident of earlier, something he regretted. According to some trusted sources, it had been the finest display of Noldor sword technique that they had seen in the valley.

"Glorfindel," he said slowly, "I am sure that you have some idea of why I have called you here."

Glorfindel simply nodded. Ah, now that's different, Mablung thought. Perhaps he was tired of trying to overcome his odd accent every time that he spoke.

"You are to be congratulated on your extraordinary and…surprising skill. It seems that perhaps, not every memory has been lost to you?"

Color drained from Glorfindel's face and he could hardly believe his own ears as he answered coldly

"I hardly think that is any of your business, sir."

Mablung uttered a sharp bark of laughter.

"No, it's not," he said, "You must understand that I am naturally curious about this process of being reborn. None have ever returned from Valinor save you, and-"

He cut himself short. Damn it, why did he feel that he could just tell this elf everything, what would he care that Mablung was afraid that his wife, now reborn, may have forgotten him? Or that she may not even be the person he remembered? He flattened his palms out on the desk before him.

"I'm dragging this out unnecessarily. You and some of the other recruits from the ranks have been marked out as especially talented. You are advanced beyond your peers, and there is no need to hold you back. You and these other recruits will form a new training squadron. There's someone else from your bunk that's transferring---Ithmabob, whatever his name is. He's going too. Otherwise, everything's going to be different. New trainer, new barracks, new weapons."

Glorfindel nodded, slightly stunned at this turn of events. He had been in Imladris such a short time and now even the tenuous friendships he had began to form were going to be taken away. In his vulnerable state, this was very annoying.

"I understand. Will I be seeing much more of you, sir?"

The captain's mouth twitched slightly.

"You'll be glad to see the back of me, I warrant," he said, "Barring extraordinary ill behavior on your part, you won't be seeing me, at least not for some time."

He hesitated and Glorfindel's eyes flickered through the small room, trying to follow his gaze. He dropped his gaze to the desk and caught a glimpse of a cream colored square, trapped under Mablung's enormous hand like a demure butterfly. Finally, the captain cleared his throat and pushed it across the desk with a seemingly causal gesture.

"Oh, and, uh, that's for you."

Glorfindel's hand closed over it and he slid it into his pocket without looking at the handwriting or the name. He could read the curiosity in the other elf's face but he was about to open the letter in front of him. Realizing this, Mablung dismissed him with a curt nod and a gruff,

"Dismissed."

Only a few words halted the elf as he stepped through the doorway.

"Good bloody job, young one. Good, bloody job."

Despite his mixed feelings, over the transfer, over the letter, Glorfindel smiled.

"Thanks," he said softly, and left.

Back at the barracks, he poked Ithmene's shoulder. He started, his pen slipping across the paper in a splutter of ink. He twisted around, ready to be angry when he saw who it was.

"You didn't tell me!" Glorfindel accused him, poking him again, "You didn't say that you were transferring!"

Ithmene's face lit up in a huge, unguarded smile; much different from his normal, unassuming nature.

"I didn't want to say anything until I was sure that you were, too!" he said, "Honestly, I didn't want to do it without you. Is that all Mablung had to say?"

Glorfindel's fingers froze on the letter he had been about to pull from his pocket. He crumpled it abruptly and shoved it into the farthest corners of his pocket.

"Yes," he said, "Nothing else important."

Then he grinned.

"Now, how about that sandwich?"


End file.
